Sailing The Sky
by Alicia McKenzie
DISCLAIMER: Marvel's characters, not mine. No money, so you shouldn't bother suing. :) Some bad words, here. Fair warning. :)
I could smell fall in the air. That. . .crispness, that always makes me feel refreshed and a little wistful at the same time. Before I knew it, it would be winter, another year coming to an end. One more year lived on the edge, flirting with death, fighting for a cause that I pretended I was too cynical to believe in.
One more year with him.
I smiled, shifting slightly, squeezing the hand so casually interlaced with mine. “That one looks like a dog,” I said casually. “Don’t you think?”
“Which one?” I pointed, and he was silent for a moment. “I don’t see it.”
“Well, of course not,” I chuckled wryly. “NOW it looks like a turtle.” I stared up into the sky, tickled by this whole thing. Here we were, wasting a beautiful Saturday afternoon. We could have gotten tickets to see a show in town, or worked off a little sexual tension with a good sparring session.
Instead, we were lying out here in the backyard, watching the clouds roll past in the blue August sky. Strange, though. . .I wasn’t minding this. Me, who hates inactivity. I chuckled. He was even worse than me in that respect, but all I could sense along the psi-link was perfect contentment. Maybe I was dealing with a pod person, here. . .
“Actually,” he said in a grave voice that didn’t fool me for a second, “that’s exactly what everyone who’s seen us out here today has thought. About both of us.”
I laughed openly. “Well, flonq them.”
"I couldn’t agree more.” His hand tightened on mine for a moment. “Cloud-watching. Of all the ways to celebrate an anniversary, this has got to be the oddest.”
The clouds blurred. . .or my vision did, rather. I couldn’t quite stifle the shit-faced grin, though. “You remembered,” I said softly.
“Of course I did.” Warmth, pouring down the psi-link, mingled with a healthy dose of wry amusement. “Let me guess. . .if I didn’t, I was going to wake up tomorrow to poison in my coffee or something.”
I affected a haughty sniff. “You bet your ass, old man.” I raised my free hand and wiped my eyes, the smile sneaking back. “Arsenic. In your coffee. And don’t you forget it.”
“I’ve wished for some strategic memory lapses, sometimes,” he said in that dry voice I sometimes hated. So often he used that so-called wit of his as a shield, a barrier. A distancing ploy. Hell, I shouldn’t talk. I was guilty of doing the exact same thing half the time. “But never that day.” His tone softened. Almost a caress.
“I knew I’d made a good first impression,” I said, smugly. “Even if I did hit G.W.”
“Oh, well, actually, that was one of the highlights of the evening, for me. . .” He chuckled, but I felt a trace of uncertainty from him. Just a ghost, an echo. Enough to notice, though. “Is it my imagination, or does that one look like Logan?”
“It’s your imagination,” I said wryly, and let him change the subject. But I squirmed over sideways, closer to him, and leaned my head against his shoulder. Not letting go of his hand.
That flash of uncertainty again. I was about to ask him what the problem was when he spoke. “Logan and I had. . .an argument.”
“Oh?” Well, there was nothing new about that. “Did the argument involve a trip to see Hank?” I asked teasingly. “I didn’t notice any parts missing. . .”
“Not our usual type of discussion, Dom. He told me off.” He sighed, sounding a little disconsolate. “About you.”
I sat up, staring down at him incredulously. “I beg your pardon?”
He looked sheepish, but there was a little hurt underneath it all, I thought, reaching out along the psi-link questioningly. “About how I treat you.”
“I say again, I beg your pardon?” Damned fair skin. . .I was probably the color of a lobster at the moment. How dare he? Logan had no business getting involved. . .did he think I was still sixteen years old? I hadn’t needed him to ‘vet’ my adolescent crushes back then, and he ought to know better than to get between me and Nate like this. I would have given him credit for being smarter than that. “What the hell did he say to you?”
The sheepishness in Nate’s expression vanished. His gaze was very calm, very direct as he looked up at me. “He had a few good points.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Nate. . .don’t tell me you’re starting to listen to relationship advice from LOGAN, of all people.” The anger was settling into a sullen sort of irritation, the spell of the afternoon broken.
“We don’t need advice, you think?” he said with a smile that seemed a little unsteady. “On getting our act together?”
He was quite serious. I put aside my fantasies of Logan and various nasty uses for kitchen appliances, and laid back down beside Nate, taking his hand again. “Getting our act together,” I said quietly, ironically. “His words or yours?”
“I forget. We got a little. . .heated.”
“I bet. The gall of him. . .”
“He wouldn’t have been so angry if he wasn’t concerned,” Nate said, his voice dry again. “Take it as a sign of affection.”
“Sign of affection my ass,” I said in annoyance. “Damn it, I’d kick YOUR ass if you acted like I needed to be ‘protected’, physically OR emotionally. Logan doesn’t get special consideration, here.” I stared up at the clouds, scowling. “Do I come across as exceptionally fragile, or something?” I asked darkly. “A damsel in distress needing to be rescued?”
“Oath, no. Do I look like I have a deathwish?” There was a ripple of sudden laughter in his voice. “Even if I thought that, Dom. . .which I don’t. . .I would hope I’d know better than to admit it.”
“Glad to see your instinct for self-preservation’s still in working order,” I snorted.
“It’s the weekend. Even martyrs get a day off.” He hesitated for a moment. “That was one thing, he said.”
“What?”
“That I’m not being fair to you. That’s I’m so fixated on my personal holy war that I don’t give you the sort of time or attention you deserve. . .”
“God damn it. . .right, I need regular maintenance, after all. Time and attention. Shit.” Abruptly, I had the urge to start laughing. “Okay, enough with the fucking self-examination already. This isn’t the day for it.”
“When better?” he asked, almost whimsically. I could sense that odd little knot of tangled emotions beginning to relax, just a bit. “This being our ‘anniversary’ and all. After all these years. . .”
“Don’t you dare start counting. . .I’m NOT that old.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. If it makes you feel old, how do you think it makes ME feel?”
“Good point.” I sighed, trying to force my body to relax, striving to get back to that peacefulness from earlier. “I’m just wondering. . .”
“What?”
“Where this sudden impulse to throw words at the problem came from.” I bit my lip at my own phrasing. “Problem,” I said with another sigh, this one more exasperated. “I don’t suppose you’d pass that off as a slip, would you?”
He chuckled softly. “I’m afraid not.”
Problem. Problems. Hell, we had plenty of them, I knew that. I’m not THAT good at deluding myself. All I had to do was think back to the number of times I’d wanted to kill him in the last decade, and that was just a START. . .
“Tell me something,” I said suddenly. “Why don’t you pry?”
“What?”
“Pry. Like I do. Shit, Nate, I’ve made an Olympic sport out of digging into your past.”
A muttered something in Askani. “I’ve noticed.”
“But you’ve never even asked me my real name.”
“Birth defect. Born without a sense of curiosity.”
“Oh, RIGHT. . .”
He was quiet for a long, long moment. “Maybe I was afraid.”
“Afraid my name would be Brunnhilde, or something?”
“Yeah, right,” he snorted. “Just. . .afraid. Of pushing too hard.”
“Of frightening me away?” I asked, a little whimsically.
“Maybe,” he said candidly. “I don’t really know, Dom.” His hand tightened on mine.
When it came right down to it, I reflected a little grimly, we weren’t afraid of the same thing. With him, it was loss. With me, it was being found. . .*well, there’s my profound thought for the day.*
And how much did our fears shape us, really? There were a lot of ways to run away. Not all of them involved changing your name and fleeing the country. Some of them were simpler. Sometimes, all you had to do was to wear the face of a friend, smile a lot, and make a bunch of smart-ass comments.
#True.# His voice in my mind was very soft. #Lots of ways to hide, too. Sometimes even in plain sight. That’s my favorite.#
“Oh, I would never have guessed THAT. . .” But the urge to tease him trailed off. “I would tell you, you know. If you asked.”
“I know. . .maybe that’s why I don’t.” He pushed himself up on his elbow, leaning over me. Studying my face. “I don’t think I’d ever be able to think of you as anything but Dom.” His eyes looked suspiciously moist. #Living proof that my life isn’t mapped out in front of me right to the bitter end.#
“What’s in a name, huh?” I said, a little too lightly. Trying to keep a blithe expression.
#. . .freedom.#
“What?” I asked, startled. Too loudly.
He blinked. “Didn’t say anything,” he muttered, his brow creasing. He reached over and pulled a piece of grass out of my hair, looking bemused.
A smile played on my lips, despite my best efforts. “Right. Sure. Nice to know you associate me with such a nice, concept, though. . .I do such dreadful things to your self-control, don’t I? Makes me wonder why you put up with me.”
He reddened. “Um. . .”
“This is where you’re supposed to laugh and say something terribly witty like ‘it’s the sex, Dom. I do it for the sex.’”
There was still a little too much color in his cheeks, but his eyes danced as he looked down at me. “That the required response?”
“Or something along those lines. Some deprecating little wisecrack.”
He gave me a mournful look. Oh, those damned puppy-dog eyes. Even when he was being so patently insincere, they still got me, RIGHT where it counted. “I’m getting too predictable, aren’t I?”
“No, if there’s one thing you’ve never been, Nate, it’s predictable.” It came out a little more seriously than I’d intended, and he grew sober, so quickly that it was like my words had flipped some kind of switch.
“Or reliable,” he said very quietly. “I haven’t been that, either, have I? You do deserve better. You deserve. . .more of me, than I’ve given.”
I punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Enough with the angst.”
“But it’s true. . .”
“That you haven’t been reliable? Of course it is. That I’m somehow. . .better than that? Bullshit. I’ve been just as bad as you, Nate. Sure, you’ve shut me out on a regular basis and tried to blow me up once or twice, but I’ve spent way too much of the last. . .of the years we’ve known each other, running away from you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I hardly think you can compare our reactions. I mean, you were perfectly justified. . .”
“Don’t put me on a pedestal, Nate,” I warned, not bothering to hide the steel in my voice. “I’m not an ideal anything. . .we’ve both pulled a lot of shit over the years, and it’s stuck to us both.”
His expression was suddenly, perfectly composed. “You’re right,” he said, his voice oddly tired all of a sudden. “Guilt poisons faster than anything else. I used to know that. I wonder when I forgot it. . .”
“Probably when the trick of how to forgive yourself slipped that poor befuddled mind of yours. Must suck to be old and decrepit. . .”
“Oath, Dom. . .” He flopped back over onto his back, and I could hear a strangled laugh. “You are certainly not one to talk about forgiving yourself, babe.”
“Nate. . .” Ouch. That one hit a little close to home. Too true, damn it.
“I may not ask, but I sense it. . .you have no idea how many times I’ve woken up from your nightmares in a cold sweat.”
I stiffened slightly. “My nightmares?” I asked in a neutral voice.
“Don’t worry,” he said wearily, an odd sort of resignation creeping up the psi-link. “I don’t see them. . .your defenses are even better when you’re asleep. But I feel them. . .”
My mouth twisted a little. “Sorry.”
He sat up, pulled me up with him. “I didn’t tell you that to get an apology,” he said, roughly, his eyes searching mine. “Or ANYTHING. . .”
“I know.” I could feel the stiffness softening. I laid my other hand on top of his.
“I wanted you to know. That I might not ask, but I understand. . .” He trailed off for a moment. “And that if you ever want to talk. . .” It was a hesitant, almost skittish offer, but I could tell he meant it.
“I KNOW, Nate,” I insisted gently. “Don’t you know that I know? Aren’t you supposed to be the telepath, here?”
“But you’re not. And. . .”
“Do you regret that?” I asked. “That you can’t have what you had with. . .”
Pain stabbed down the link. Damn it. . .oh, damn. Those were tears, damn it. “If you think I compare you to her. . .”
“Nate, no. . .”
“. . .I do.” It took me aback. Sheer instinct made me start to pull away, but he held on tight, not letting me go. “I do,” he continued in that same hoarse voice. “I look at you both, at the flonqing. . .HONOR it is to have had her in my life, to have you in my life now. . .and nothing hurts as much anymore. Nothing’s as hard. . .my whole flonqing mess of a life doesn’t look nearly as impossible. And I think that there must be something worth saving in me after all, something worth living for, if someone out there decided to. . .bless me like this.”
“You son of a bitch,” I whispered, his face blurring in my vision. His face, that unguarded, painfully open expression. The truth blazing in his eyes. “What did I tell you I’d do to you the next time you made me cry, Summers?”
He pulled me gently, inexorably into his arms, pressing his lips against my temple. Barely a kiss, yet somehow a promise. “I think it had something to do with Jimmy’s bo staff and someplace the sun doesn’t shine. . .”
I laughed, wiping tears away and then sliding my arms around him. “We’re missing all the good clouds,” I whispered into his chest.
“Right,” he murmured. “I nearly forgot.”
We laid back down, closer this time. I could have almost fallen asleep. . .there wasn’t anyplace in the world I felt stronger, safer, happier, than at his side, or in his arms.
I was his ‘freedom’? His hope? Fair enough, because he’d shown me something just as important, taught me a lesson just as valuable as anything I’d given him. Logan had taught me how to stand up for myself, to believe in myself. . .and, his interfering tendencies aside, there wasn’t anything I could do to thank him adequately for that. But Nate. . .Nate had taught me how to believe in something bigger than myself. Something greater. It had been a long, drawn-out process, but I’d learned that cynicism was only skin-deep, with him.
That there was a dreamer under there, after all. No shining ideals, not for someone who’d been kicked in the teeth by life more times than I liked to think about. Just determination, and patience, the strength to pick himself up and ignore the bruises and the scars, to fight on with everything in his heart.
I could share him with his ‘cause’, because, however much he tried to diminish himself in his own mind with all this self-deprecating crap and the deeper, more troubling tendencies towards real self-loathing, he was worth the effort. The compromises I had to make.
“That one looks like the Helicarrier.” His voice was still rough with emotion. He’d probably 'heard' every bit of that. Well, good. I was a little leery of the idea of trying to match that unexpected eloquence of his. . .
Besides. . .the words didn’t really matter. I knew how he felt. He knew how I felt. It wasn’t words that were important, it was actions. It was me saving his ass at regular intervals. It was him, finally, after all these years, trusting me with what was in his heart.
I smiled softly. “Nope. Oil tanker.”
“Really? But that wide part up top, look. . .oh, yeah. Maybe you’re right.”
“I’m always right. Hadn’t you figured that out by now? I’m She Who Is Right With Alarming Frequency. . .”
“. . .She Who Is Full Of It, you mean. . .ow!”
“Well, that was downright mean of me, wasn’t it?”
“You have sharp elbows.”
“And you have cold feet in bed, but you don’t hear me complaining, do you?”
“Not about THAT. . .”
“Oh, very funny.”
“I thought it was.”
“Shut up and watch the clouds.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a chuckle.
I laughed softly. “I may get you properly trained yet. . .”
He was quivering with suppressed laughter. #Don’t hold your breath,# he said wickedly, and drew me closer. “Now, that one’s a snail.”
“Uh-uh. Danish.”
“Snail.”
“Danish. . .”
“I say snail.”
“Well, smart-ass, I say. . .”
Fond as I was of this familiar old banter of ours, I had to admit. There were worse things than being silenced with a kiss.
fin